


i cough it out, i cough it out

by CallicoKitten



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, M/M, Smut, Sort Of, set between season 3 and 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-05 01:09:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12179949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallicoKitten/pseuds/CallicoKitten
Summary: The first time Jim Gordon comes around after the Alice Tetch virus - after everything, really – they end up fucking in Oswald’s office at the Iceburg Lounge. Like everything that involves Jim, it feels desperately inevitable.





	i cough it out, i cough it out

**Author's Note:**

> i meant to post this before season 4 started so it doesn't quite line up but hey, at least its out there. it was also meant to like, have an ending but writers block has me bad right now.

The first time Jim Gordon comes around after the Alice Tetch virus - after everything, really – they end up fucking in Oswald’s office at the Iceburg Lounge. Like everything that involves Jim, it feels desperately inevitable.

Oswald knows this is only happening because Doctor Thompkins has skipped town again and maybe he should be jealous, should be annoyed. Jim only crawls back to him when he has no fairer, greener pastures to plough but there’s comfort in it. Comfort in knowing that no matter how many betrayals and attempted murders and thwarted schemes come between them there’ll still be this eventually.

There’ll still be Jim crowding Oswald up against his own desk, twisting him around, one hand at Oswald’s hip, the other sliding around Oswald’s throat, around Oswald’s chin, fingers slipping into his mouth. There’ll still be Jim mouthing nonsense into Oswald’s shoulder as he thrusts, peppering kisses, scrapes, nips. There’ll still be Jim grunting Oswald’s name as he finishes because Jim Gordon has never needed a medically engineered virus to bare his teeth and give in to his baser instincts.

And Oswald will still paw at Jim’s shirt buttons impatiently, will still bite at Jim’s lips, will still arch and moan and whine as he comes only now it’ll feel all the more sweet:

Oswald keeps Ed in a place of honour in his office, right across from the desk. If Jim’s noticed he hasn’t said anything, doesn’t say anything as he presses a feather light kiss to the side of Oswald’s head, hitches up his trousers and leaves.

Oswald is still for a few moments, panting, trying to catch his breath, staring up at Ed, suspended as always with an expression of rage on his face. He smirks when he stands up, crosses the room to tap on the ice, “Enjoying the view, old friend?”

He doesn’t know if Ed is aware of anything going on around him, Victor has offered a few times to freeze Oswald or Bridget or Ivy or someone so they can find out but so far no one has been keen. Oswald hopes, though.

Oh, Oswald hopes.

\---

Every few days without fail, Ivy asks Oswald when he’s going to unfreeze Ed, perches up on his desk or leans up against the wall at Oswald’s mansion and tilts her head just so.

Oswald keeps around because she’s useful, because every now and again she comes up with something really fun to use on their enemies, because she’s _family_ or something like it but the trouble is she’s not frightened of Oswald at all. It’s irksome, to have this child sit in front of him and say very gently, “You’ll feel better if you do, you know,” very slowly, like Oswald is an idiot.

Oswald scowls. “I feel fine, Ivy.”

“No you don’t,” Ivy says, stupid secret smile stretched across her face. “Your face is all crinkled. Like this.” She demonstrates.

“That’s not what my face looks like.”

Ivy laughs. “It does _so._ Ask anyone.”

Oswald sighs. In a little while Ivy will get bored or distracted and scamper off to find someone else to torment but first she’ll lean in, reach up like she’s going to pat his cheek or something but think better of it, lower her hand to her thigh and say, “You can let yourself be happy, you know.”

And Oswald will smile coldly and say, “I’m perfectly happy, actually. I have everything I’ve ever wanted.” Which is true. Barbara Kean has turned up dead, Butch is rotting away in some hospital bed. The Court has fallen, Tabitha is out there someone but Oswald’s enjoying making her sweat. He’s King again.

What more could he want?

When Ivy leaves the room feels wide and empty. Oswald glares across at the ice. “What are _you_ looking at?” he snaps.

\---

Victor Zsasz finds the whole thing hilarious, says as much in the quirk of his eyebrows as he stalks into the room.

“Nobody asked you,” Oswald grumbles. Ivy looks between them, brows furrowed.

“Hey, no judgements here,” Zsasz says evenly. He looks back to Ed, appraising. “It’s nice. Elegant.”

“Thank you. At least _someone_ appreciates my work,” Oswald says. Ivy rolls her eyes, mumbles something like _who’s work?_ Under her breath. Zsasz is smart enough to ignore it. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. The latter, probably. Oswald’s under no illusions about him. He might be content to do what Oswald says right now, to go there and do this and kill this person, but it probably won’t last.

That’s why when afterwards, when Victor pauses before he leaves and turns back towards Oswald with his cold gaze and asks, “Hey, do you ever think about Nygma when I’m fucking you?” Oswald doesn’t so much as flinch.

Somewhere, Ivy laughs.

\---

“You know, Oswald, I heard a funny story about you,” Harvey Bullock says, crowding him against the wall of Oswald’s own club.

Oswald would ask him politely to leave but the GCDP aren’t here for him, yet anyway. This is about Gotham’s latest monster, the one who ever so kindly chose to unleash his new fear toxin in Oswald’s club. Oswald’s still shaking the worst of it off. If he hadn’t attacked Oswald’s club so publicly, Oswald would be tempted to offer him a job. 

But there’ll be time for that later. For now, Oswald has to set his jaw, meet Bullock’s gaze defiantly and say, “And I’ve heard a few thousand about you, detective but I think we can both agree that’s neither here nor there.”

Bullock doesn’t blink, doesn’t even _pretend_ to be intimidated. “Cute,” he snorts. “Anyway, this one’s a _real_ doozy. Apparently, word on the street is you didn’t have Nygma shot and dumped in the river like you want everyone to think.”

“Oh?” Oswald says, coldly.

“ _Apparently,_ ” Bullock goes on. “You got one of your little friends to put him on ice, keep him around here somewhere. But that’s a little unhinged even for you, right?” 

The corner of Oswald’s mouth twitches.

“I agree, detective. That does sound a little unhinged. Even for me.”

\---

“Harvey says you’ve got Ed somewhere in your club trapped in some sort of huge ice block,” Jim says and the whole thing is obscene because he’s hissing the words against the hollow of Oswald’s throat as they rut against each other on the floor of Jim’s apartment.

“Jealous, Detective Gordon?”

Jim rakes his teeth along Oswald’s collar bone, kisses his way up to suck a mark across Oswald’s pulse point. “Rethinking my life choices, maybe,” he says, all wry and whiskey-soaked.

He doesn’t stop though and Oswald curls his hands into Jim’s shoulders, presses his face into the crook of Jim’s neck, tries not to think about Ed’s big dark eyes and long fingers and –

Jim lingers when they’re through, breathing out against Oswald’s bare skin, grip on Oswald’s wrists loose and slack. If Oswald wanted he could slide his arms down in Jim’s grip, tangle their fingers together. If Oswald wanted.

After a moment, Oswald shifts rolls onto his side so he can look up at Jim. Jim’s watching him, eyes intense. “What did you see when they gassed you?” he asks.

Oswald swallows. He wishes he could say it was something scary, something truly scary but it wasn’t and there’s no point in lying to Jim. “Ed,” he says, flatly. “I saw Ed.”

And it’s instant, the change, like a cascade across Jim’s expression. The shutters go down, he’s back to the stony-faced, firmly set jaw.

“We can’t do this again,” Jim says, standing up.

Oswald huffs, flops down and stretches his arms out. “So, I’ll see you again in a few months then. When you’ve driven the next Doctor Thompkins away?”

“Fuck you, Oswald,” Jim snarls.

-

When he gets back to the club he shuts himself in his office. 

"Shut the fuck up," he snaps to Ed. Ed who is frozen and stares and stares and stares. Oswald kicks at the ice block. It's too heavy, too thick to crack. "This is all your fault you know. Why couldn't you just - "

And he has to stop himself thinking about it, the timeline where Ed loved him back, where Ed beamed instead of looked at Oswald with shock and anger and hurt and disgust. Where Ed took his hand, cupped his cheek. Where Ed leant in, where Ed kissed him, gentle at first and then heated. Where Oswald didn't have to rely on Jim Gordon's pity as much as Jim relied on his.

"Why couldn't you just - ?" Oswald mumbles.


End file.
